


Should've Picked a Better Door

by the_ineffable_yeet



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Morality, Does it really count as an original character if literally no details are given about them?, Gen, It/Its Pronouns for The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), and it shows, and mayyyybe make him have feelings, i just wanted to write michael distortion, michael shelley at least, michael's not a fan of bullies tbh, thatse it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ineffable_yeet/pseuds/the_ineffable_yeet
Summary: A child running from a bully accidentally opens a door. Michael doesn't want to have sympathy, but it manages to anyways.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 83





	Should've Picked a Better Door

**Author's Note:**

> Me the day before AP exams start: so anyways you're gonna write fanfiction now

Quick, jagged breaths echoed out into the air. They were panicked.

Adrenaline.

Fear.

The Distortion pinpointed the source easily, drinking it like fine wine.

The door that appeared hadn’t been there before, but that didn't matter. The soon-to-be-wanderer grasped the handle with sweaty palms and flung the door open.

Eager, this one was. No, that wasn't right. Eager implied some sort of desire for the events about to transpire. No, it was like… desperation. Stupidity. Fear that made a person make decisions that, in hindsight, were really really stupid. The Distortion was almost as eager as its wanderer wasn't.

Except…

As the wanderer ran down its corridors, they did not notice how the wallpaper shifted. They did not notice how the rug had not always been blue, or yellow. They did not even notice the lack of doors, or turns, or any other feature that would give a hallway meaning.

The wanderer slowed down, until their journey was moved to a crawl. The Distortion kept itself still, its colors steady, with apprehension. With particularly unobservant wanderers, one of the Distortion’s favorite parts was this. When everything was realized to be Wrong.

The wanderer slumped against a wall.

Their skin was bruised in places, their face flushed with exertion. They were small, Michael realized. A child.

The child teared up, curling in on themself. This was not how it typically went, and though the Distortion usually liked surprises, this one was…disappointing.

It's not like there was much premeditation put into this door. It hadn't intended on much of _anything_ that particular day. There was simply the taste of fear in the air, and the desire for an escape, which was practically _begging_ for it. 

Well. Clearly if it was going to get a meal out of this at all it would take a little more effort. It manifested an image in the mirror opposite the child, an image with unruly yellow curls and clickety clackety fingers.

Michael placed its approximation of hands under its chin, watching the child.

“You look lost.” It said, voice echoing slightly.

The child suddenly looked, not at the mirror but down the hallway. It was the direction they thought they had come from. As if someone was going to be following them. The fact that it was a some _one_ and not a some _thing_ made the Distortion want to flay itself out into jagged static, pretenses of hallways and mirrors and forms be damned. But the wanderer surely wouldn’t survive that.

“Why are you here?” Michael said instead. Its voice was light and sharp.

There was a hiccup, maybe a shiver. “They- I just wanted to play, an-” another hiccup, “they're so mean.” The child’s voice trailed off into a whine. They screwed their face shut as a sob escaped their lips.

Michael made a sound like clicking its tongue.

The child continued, “and then they were laughing at me, ‘cos I tripped, and one of them kicked me here,” they held out their arm, a streak of dirt and what was blooming into a nasty bruise clearly visible.

Michael examined the wound thoughtfully. “Children are… a particular breed of cruelty.”

It could, it supposed, do something about this. Theoretically. It didn't want to, but it was also _angry._ It was angry at this pitiful excuse of a wanderer for not paying more attention and choosing a better door. It was also angry at the ones that did this. The Distortion’s wanderer wasn’t much of a wanderer at all. The Distortion did not like being forced to harbor prey that wasn’t its own. The Distortion did not _want_ to make this prey its own. It had already chosen another focus for that.

The child was still on the floor, curled up against the red and swirling wallpaper. They looked tired. And hungry.

They never were meant to stay for long.

“You should stay.” Michael said. It was leaning over the child now. Michael was actually standing a distance away from the child, but its stretched up and across the ceiling, head hanging directly over them. Its hair dangled down, obscuring the smile slightly. The child stared at the floor, frozen. Then they looked up, and _finally_ the Distortion felt a wave of uncertainty and confusion from the child.

“Who are you?” They whispered.

“I'm,” there was a pause. This part was always incorrect. “I'm Michael.”

The words were sandpaper. They echoed loud and harsh off the walls. The child winced, looking away.

“I’m not, actually.” The Distortion corrected. “But you may call me that.”

“I think I want to leave now.” The child said, glancing back at Michael briefly, warily. They stood up, backing away. At least this one was _finally_ showing some self-preservation instinct.

The child turned around to go back the way they came. Except, the way they came through did not exist. 

But they stubbornly continued to walk. They were insistent on having a sense of direction here, like if they retraced a path that had already disappeared, then they’d get to where they used to be. This- this stubbornness, it was funny. The Distortion liked it when people lied to themselves. A quiet giggle rippled through the halls.

Michael stood in front of the child, towering over them with limbs and limbs and limbs.

“That’s the wrong way, I’m afraid.” It said. The child took in a sharp breath with wide eyes. Well, maybe there would be an appetizer after all.

Its laughter grew as the child ran, ran down the corridors that never ended and turned ever so slightly to the left. Now _they_ were afraid of _it_. Not the most… flavorful. This particular wanderer had decided to perceive the Distortion as a singular predator. But it would take what it could get, its laughter trailing off into a sigh.

The Distortion followed the child, winding its hallways around and around, discordant echoes of footsteps close behind.

“It looks like you need a door.” It said.

The child kept running, but searching now too. Upon second glance into a mirror, they saw a frame that stretched down to the floor, and a door handle. The child wasted no time twisting the handle and hurling through it.

Michael followed, right up to the threshold of the door, clasping the edge of it as it swung back violently. Eager to go, eager to leave. It watched the child stumble onto the ground, looking up to take in unfamiliar surroundings.

“Don’t waste too long in getting home. This should be in the same borough. I think.” Michael smiled thinly. It watched the child scramble up, clutching their arm in terror. They would find, upon inspection later, a bruise vaguely spiral-shaped. One that didn’t quite return to the usual tone of their skin. Whether the mark meant protection, or a future meal, or something else, the Distortion hadn’t decided yet. For now, the Hunt would keep its claws and its claims off.

“Also,” Michael said. The child had already taken off down the street, away from the blue and purple door that existed in the wall between two apartment buildings. But the Distortion’s voice carried, and it was certain the child could still hear it. “You won’t have to worry about those mean ones anymore.”

It listened to the footsteps, the ragged breathing, still soaking in the mediocre amount of fear lingering in the halls. Some people passed by on the sidewalk, their gazes slipping over the door completely.

Then the figure sometimes called Michael turned on its heels, shutting the door behind it. The door frame warped, dipping into itself, and in the next moment it was never there.

Now it was going to go have a _proper_ meal.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
